


why does he love me?

by fallenidolandfalsefriend



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone Is Gay, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mention of Death, Sad, erik gay, erik's pov, raoul gay, rerik, sad and gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22865386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenidolandfalsefriend/pseuds/fallenidolandfalsefriend
Summary: i knew and understood many things. raoul will perhaps never be one of them.
Relationships: Raoul de Chagny/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 10
Kudos: 66





	why does he love me?

**Author's Note:**

> honestly, this just came up to me today as i was listening to the song "why does she love me?".
> 
> nothing really serious and detailed. i just wanted to write some content regarding erik contemplating about why raoul loved him.
> 
> very self indulgent because another week is starting and i just wanted to start it on a good (and sad) note. 
> 
> a bit angsty than i originally planned it would be (understandable, erik is a drama queen).
> 
> but i do hope it is to your liking!
> 
> p.s. as always, it is a mix of the novel and the alw musical! set after the final lair!

Raoul was a stupid young man.

A _very stupid_ one.

I never came to understand why he came back that night. I will never understand why I let myself weep in his arms. Was I desperate for any scrap of human affection that I allowed the man who stole Christine away from me to touch me? If stupidity was contagious, then I had no doubt he was to blame for my senseless actions.

For one moment, I was certain that his intent was to stain his hands with my blood. I was already dying...of love. He already had the upper hand. Yet, instead of a cold bullet going through what I could still call my heart, I felt the coldness of his tears on my face.

He was weeping.

I could not bring myself to ask. I waited for him to speak. He told me of the nightmares which visited him since that night. He wanted to forget what happened. He told me he wanted to forget yet I would not permit him. He could not sleep. I was nowhere near them yet he still felt my cold hands wrapped around his neck. He still saw the hatred in my eyes. He could still hear my pitiful sobs as both of them left. He sometimes dreamt he was dying—by the fear in his eyes, I could tell I was the reason—and other times he dreamt of me dying alone. He let out a whimper when he mentioned my death.

What an odd soul, l thought. Why would he waste his tears for someone he loathed? He responded that he did not know and buried his face in his hands, muffling whatever came out of his mouth.

I should be delighted to witness the insolent boy’s misery. How could I, when he cried for poor, unhappy Erik? I felt something peculiar instead. I was unsure if it was guilt or regret. The only thing I knew was that it was unbearable to look at him so distraught. 

I did not know what compelled me to do what I did. I gave him the ring Christine had returned to me before they left. I gave my word that for as long as he wore it, then he shall have my protection. I will not bring him or Christine any harm. He looked at me, doubtful of my words. He finally calmed down a few moments later. My empty promises seemed to have comforted him. 

He stayed that night. 

I knew and understood many things. Raoul will perhaps never be one of them. 

* * *

Raoul told me he loved me.

I asked him why. He blushed a hundred shades of red and asked me why I would ask such a thing! He pulled his collar and cleared his throat as he tried to find the words that will convince me.

I interrupted him and told him that he had mistaken something else for love. He insisted that he knew what he felt, and that I did not need to accept it, nor tell him how I felt about him. He just wanted me to know of his intentions.

I stood up and warned him to never tell me anything again unless I asked.

* * *

Raoul’s love felt like a punishment. He was a reminder of my crimes. He reminded me of Christine. He reminded me that I would never be as good as him. I hated that there was still a part of me which resented him even though he had shown me nothing but kindness. 

Yet what I despised the most was that my heart was already in his possession without his knowledge. 

I will not tell him unless he asked.

I will not tell him _even_ if he asked.

* * *

The strange feeling of sunlight on my skin woke me up. I groaned in irritation, wanting darkness more than anything else. I cursed the body beside mine, who was still in deep slumber, for not closing the drapes all the way last night. Though the bed was soft and comfortable, it was still not what I was used to. 

His love was still something I was not used to.

His eyes fluttered open and his smile put the sunlight peeking through the drapes to shame. He looked at me lovingly as if I was not unmasked. He looked at me as if he knew everything about me and accepted the entirety of who I was. 

Raoul loved me and I was foolish enough to even let him. 


End file.
